


lead me astray (lead me your way)

by owilde



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Gender Issues, Getting Together, M/M, Magic, Marriage, Romance, Witches, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, like ish, this is a lot of cliches and fluff, well not so much issues per se but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15553056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: It's a normal Sunday evening when Dan disappears.One minute he's there, sitting on the grass in front of Phil who's leaning closer and tilting his head, shooting Dan a questioning look – is this okay? Can we? Do you want me to?One minute he's there, and then as suddenly as the sun disappears, so does Dan.





	lead me astray (lead me your way)

**Author's Note:**

> i just... love me some fucking fantasy once in a while
> 
> find me on tumblr @ wilderogers, i post dnp stuff from time to time :')

It's a normal Sunday evening when Dan disappears.

One minute he's there, sitting on the grass in front of Phil who's leaning closer and tilting his head, shooting Dan a questioning look – is this okay? Can we? Do you want me to?

It's settling into dusk, the sun dipping below the mountain range, painting the snowy edges a tinted golden. It's chilly and there are goosebumps on Phil's skin – whether it's from the weather or Dan, he can't tell. It’s not out of the norm that Dan makes him feel things, makes his body shiver. It's just the two of them, like it always is, like it seems to have always been. It's just the two of them, and Phil's leaning closer, hesitant and curious and tentative–

One minute he's there, and then as suddenly as the sun disappears, so does Dan.

Phil blinks at the spot where he was. There's a gust of wind that ruffles his hair and sends shivers down his spine, a wind that feels too cold for the early autumn air. He glances around himself, at the trees and the road a little way off leading back to the village. Dan's nowhere. Phil's heart begins beating faster – a thudding sense of anxiety nestles in his chest. Dan's never disappeared before. Phil doesn't know _how_ he disappeared. He's never seen anyone disappear like that.

Someone's taken him, is Phil's first coherent thought as he tries to rationalise this to himself. A malicious entity. Phil knows there are some, quite many in fact, and some near their village, too. Someone saw them from the woods and wanted to take Dan. Phil doesn't wonder why they wouldn't want him – he gets it. He's an innkeeper's son, with mead stained clothes and unkempt hair. Dan is... Dan is something else.

Phil stands up and dusts the grass off his pants. His mouth feels dry, and he's fairly certain no amount of drinking will fix this. He'll try, anyway. And then he'll make a plan.

 

***

 

They met young. Phil had been pushing fourteen, already a lanky bean stalk of a boy with awkward limbs and an awkward, rumbling voice that kept cracking and falling apart. He hadn't liked listening to himself, so he'd stayed quiet instead. He served around the inn and listened.

Phil was good at being invisible. People rarely paid attention to him, aside from asking for another drink, or the tab. It was this invisibility that made people talk freely around him. Maybe they thought he was too stupid or disinterested to pay attention or understand their words, or maybe they just didn't think a fourteen-year-old could do much with any kind of information, no matter its nature.

They weren't wrong, exactly. Phil didn't want to do anything with the things he learned. He just liked stories, and people – well. People loved to tell stories.

That went doubly for drunken people, whose stories seemed to Phil to always be just a little more fantastical, a little more exaggerated, and a little more interesting. He'd heard stories from around the village, from the building of the well to the foundation of the first house. He'd heard stories from the mountain tops, about the snow and the biting cold; those nights he'd laid in bed, wondering what snow would taste like and whether it would hurt his teeth like the cold river water sometimes did.

And that year, in early autumn, he'd heard stories about Dan. A boy, roughly Phil's age if a little younger, who'd come to the village a few days prior. A boy they knew nothing about, because he hadn't uttered a single word to a single soul in all his stay. He slept outside by the stables, huddled in a thick woolen cloak with his knees pulled up. He refused to talk, and he refused help. During the days he took off, walking down along the main road until he disappeared from view. He always came back for the night.

Phil, fourteen and so alone he thought he might either burst at the seams or shrivel into nothingness, collected empty cups from the table and thought to himself. It was likely Dan was lonely, too. Maybe he didn't like his voice, either. Maybe he'd like to talk to someone his age, someone who could understand.

Someone like Phil.

The next evening, Phil slipped out of the inn through the back doors and made his way to the stables. The small stones and gravel crunched beneath his feet as he hurried through the darkening village, all the way to the other side of it. His steps felt light, but his stomach was a nervous pool of snakes. He hadn't heard anything more about Dan. No speculation, no news, nothing. Was he even there anymore?

He was.

As Phil approached, the figure leaning against the wall glanced up, looking like he was about to dismiss whoever it was and turn away again – but he saw Phil, and stopped. His eyes followed Phil intently as he stopped too, and sat down in front of Dan, crossing his legs. They stared at each other, studying.

Phil let his gaze flicker across Dan, cataloging small details as he did. Dan had cold brown eyes, and messy brown hair. He had freckles. He looked older than he should've, and scared, and curious. His cloak was made of a fine dark blue material, enveloping him and shielding him away from the rest of the world. He took his hood down.

"Hello," Dan greeted, and Phil realized that there was no way Dan didn't like his own voice. Phil liked it a whole lot – it was smoother than his own, and it didn't sound like it was thin ice about to crack. It wasn't the kind of voice that made you keep quiet.

"Hi," Phil said – grovelled. He bit his tongue, hesitant to continue. "You talk."

Dan's lips flickered into a ghost of a smile. He was still eyeing Phil, from his auburn hair to his worn-out shoes. Phil didn't hate it. "I talk to interesting people."

"Am I interesting, then?" Phil asked, though he knew he wasn't. He was nothing special. He was just... Phil.

But Dan nodded. "I think you might be."

And that had been that.

 

***

 

The walk from the spot – their spot – back to the village isn't terribly long, but it feels that way as Phil walks it alone that evening. It's gotten cold and his skin feels cool to the touch. Phil finds a sturdy stick of the right length and models it into a makeshift walking cane-slash-sword, alternating between digging it to the ground with each step and slashing the air with it. The road feels infinite when Dan's not there with him.

He's not sure what he’s supposed to do, or what even happened. All he’d wanted was to kiss Dan. It’s a thought he’s been mulling over in the privacy of his own mind for far too long, so long that it’s become a point of anxiety, one he can physically feel in his chest from time to time. It’s not anxiety born of wanting to kiss Dan – Phil doesn’t mind wanting to kiss Dan. Why wouldn’t he want to?

But therein lies the problem. Because boys like Phil aren’t supposed to like boys like Dan. Because Dan is runaway royalty, and Phil is still, and will always be, a stupid bloody innkeeper’s son, nothing more. He’s not someone you return home victorious with. He’s not someone Dan could stand side-by-side with in front of his family, and say, _I kept my promise, see?_

Phil kicks a stone and squeezes the walking stick in his hand so hard his knuckles turn white. He thinks maybe Dan likes him, too. He thinks maybe Dan would’ve kissed him back, if he’d gotten that far. He thinks maybe it would have to end before it could begin.

Maybe it was for the better Dan disappeared before he could do anything. Phil’s saving himself the future heartbreak. The inevitable heartbreak.

The village looms in the distance, shrouded in evening mist, and Phil thinks he’s probably being stupid and melodramatic for no reason. He knows Dan, in and out and all around, and if Dan does like him – if Dan does want to kiss him back and hold his hand and take him home with him – then he will. He sees something in Phil that Phil can’t yet see for himself, always has. He sees something in Phil worth loving, and Phil doesn’t want to say that he’s wrong for doing so.

He needs to find Dan. He has too many questions, none of which he can answer for himself.

His mother doesn’t comment when Phil slips inside through the back doors and heads upstairs to the room reserved for him, but she does lift a questioning brow – where’s Dan? – and frowns when Phil shakes his head in response.

She doesn’t follow him, but she will ask questions later. Phil’s glad she’s taking an interest. It’s likely she knows about how Phil feels – sometimes Phil thinks he’s so transparent that every single person he’s come across since falling in love has seen it written across his features. It’s in his eyes, the small touches, the fondness of his tone when he talks to Dan. It’s a million little things that make up a picture so full of emotion that Phil feels his chest ache with the weight of it, just for a second, before he embraces it and lets himself float. Never drown. Loving Dan isn’t like drowning. It’s more like breathing, natural and easy.

He closes his door and sits down on his rickety bed, leaning against the wall. It’s dark, but he’s too tired to light a candle. Phil can see the moon through the window, covered in thin stretches of clouds that dim its glow. The air in the room feels stilted and cold.

There’s a spot on the floor where Dan’s supposed to sleep. It’s where he slept the first few months, his back turned to Phil and his hood pulled up, like he didn’t want to be seen. Then slowly, he’d turned around to face Phil. Then he’d taken his hood down. And then he’d climbed next to Phil, and wrapped his arms around him, and had stayed that way for years.

Phil flops down on the bed and slips underneath his quilt, feeling lonely for the first time in a long while. He wasn’t even aware how used to he’d gotten to Dan’s even breathing and soft snores, and the way his nose fit perfectly against Phil’s shoulder.

He wraps his arms around himself, and shivers. He’ll go to the woods tomorrow. And he’ll find Dan.

 

***

 

He’d asked Dan to come live with him after a week of talking to him. Dan kept getting sick from being out in the cold, and Phil had always had a heart too big for any one person to have. When Dan sneezed for the first time, his nose red and his eyes watery, Phil pulled him up by the arm and lead him back to the inn with him. His mother had looked amused as Phil had stammered through his proposal – Dan could stay in his room, and he'd be very quiet, and he could help around the inn, too, and hadn't she said that they needed more staff around?

But she'd only smiled and said it was lovely Phil was making friends, and that she'd make space for Dan in Phil's room.

Dan moved in. He had nothing to bring with him, safe for the clothes he was wearing and a single ring he kept on a silver string around his neck. The ring was hidden underneath his shirt, but sometimes, during the night, Phil heard him pull it out. He never opened his eyes to take a peek – it wasn't any of his business, if Dan didn't want to tell him. So, he would feign sleep, and eventually, Dan would put the ring away again.

But Phil was curious. Phil was curious about everything that had to do with Dan, and the mysteries surrounding him.

The first few months, Dan kept disappearing during the days, like he had done since arriving to the village. Phil never asked where he went, and Dan never offered to tell or ask him to come with. He always found his way back as the sun was starting to set, looking more peaceful and relaxed than before, and so Phil figured that wherever it was that he went and whatever it was that he did, it couldn't have been that terrible.

But he didn't know. Phil didn't like not knowing. He knew things about Dan – he knew what Dan found funny, what sort of foods he liked, what was his favourite colour, what kind of stories he preferred. He knew all these little things, and some bigger things, and he loved knowing them.

But he didn't know where Dan had come from, or why, or how. They talked – they talked a lot. They talked about Phil, the village; they told stories and tales and myths. But they never talked about Dan's past.

Phil didn’t want to push. He was sure Dan had good reasons for not telling him, and Phil didn’t want to scare him away by demanding to know. He could wait.

Autumn changed slowly into winter, and Phil ran out of stories to tell. They'd come up with a routine: as they went to bed, Phil would tell a story he knew, and Dan would listen. He said he liked falling asleep to Phil's voice, that it kept his nightmares at bay, sometimes. But there was bound to be a time where Phil had nothing left to tell.

It was a November night. Dusk had settled, and they were both lying in bed, Dan’s back brushing against Phil’s arm. Dan had moved next to Phil a few weeks ago, which was all for the better during the cold winter nights.

They lay in silence, both expecting for Phil to start talking. But no matter how hard he racked his brains, he couldn't think of a single story to tell. He'd told stories of his life, and he'd told stories from the books he'd read. He had run out.

"Dan," he said, staring into the ceiling. His voice didn’t crack that much anymore, which Phil was thankful for. He didn’t want to keep quiet around Dan, to feel self-conscious. It tended to take away from his concentration.

There was a sound of rustling as Dan shifted into a better position. “Yes?”

"Tell me a story," Phil said. Then he felt like he was demanding, so he amended, “Please.”

Silence. The longer is stretched on, the more Phil was starting to regret asking; he'd disrupted their pattern, had broken some sort of unspoken rule. He'd made things awkward, like he always did.

But then Dan spoke up. "Okay," he said, sounding uncertain. "What kind of a story?"

Phil closed his eyes. The knot in his chest eased a little. "I don't know. What kind of stories do you know?"

Dan was quiet again for a moment. "There's one I could tell, I reckon," he said after a while. "It's a bit sad."

"Okay," Phil said, even though he didn't particularly want to hear a sad story. They made him have weird dreams, sometimes. But he liked listening to Dan talk, so he’d take a sad story. Besides, Dan tended to think of lots things as sad when they really weren’t, Phil had found. Dan said he was just realistic. Phil thought he was melancholic.

"Okay," Dan echoed. He fell silent, as if recounting the tale in his head. Then he started talking, his back still turned to Phil. "Once upon a time, there was this prince. He was, in most ways, what a prince should be – polite, nice, well-mannered. But he had this one flaw. He was that type of a foolish person who still believed in true love. So, when he was arranged to marry the princess from a neighbouring kingdom, he started thinking to himself. He'd never even met this princess, yet he was expected to marry her? How could he love someone he'd never seen or talked to?

“It seemed preposterous to him. He kept hearing that he’d learn to love her, that this was simply how things were done, but none of these answers satisfied him. He didn’t want to _learn_ to love someone like that. He wanted to find someone he truly connected with, you see.

"Distraught by all this, he went before the king and the queen and explained himself. He had a plan he'd devised in his head, and he proposed it to his parents: he would travel the kingdom far and wide, and only when he'd found someone who he loved, and who loved him in return, would he come back and become the rightful ruler. The king and queen were desperate – was there not a single prince or princess he'd agree to marry? But the prince was adamant. And so, they had to let him go."

Phil blinked his eyes open. It had gone dark; he couldn't see the lines of the wooden panels on the ceiling anymore. "And did he find love?" He asked.

He could hear the clinging of metal, and glanced over at Dan. He'd taken his ring out and was fiddling with it. "No," he said quietly. "Not yet."

 

***

 

In the light of day, the woods don't look so intimidating, after all. Phil had a nightmare last night, where he'd been trapped in the forest, lost and afraid, and he'd kept seeing glimpses of Dan behind trees and at the end of paths, never reaching him. Now, standing at the edge of the woods, Phil doesn't feel lost or afraid. He knows there's a path, which diverges into a smaller path, which again diverges into smaller and smaller paths that will eventually lead him to the exact centre of the forest, where the witch's hut is. Phil knows it's real – it has to be. It's where he's headed now.

It's a starting point, he thinks, and starts walking.

As he steps into the woods, Phil realises how wrong he'd been. The trees are too tall and thick to allow any light to pass through. It’s are dark and cold, and so eerily silent that Phil begins intentionally stepping on fallen branches to make any kind of sound. He walks down the first path, until it divides into two. This one's easy – he'd been told by the miller that he ought to take the right one.

But the next path divides into three, and the next into four, and by then Phil's forgotten his instructions and doesn't know where to go. Angry at himself, he kicks a large stone, and hurts his toes in the process. He keeps going, advancing further and further into the forest, until it's so dark and quiet and it has been so long that Phil thinks it must be night time, already, and he's well and truly lost.

He sits down on a tree trunk and puts his head into his hands. He's lost, and alone, and he only wants to see Dan.

There's a loud chirp. Phil looks up.

In front of him, on the path, there's a black bird. It tilts its head at Phil, chirps again, and scrambles further down the path. It stops, turning back to look at Phil, expectant.

Phil stands up. He has nothing to lose. The bird leads him down twisting paths, sometimes going off the paths entirely, leaving Phil to trample bushes and branches and nettles that keep stinging his legs. The bird keeps chirping at him, encouraging him to keep going. Phil thinks he's gone mad, thinks this entire trip was a stupid, reckless idea. They walk, and they walk, and they walk–

The trees clear out as Phil steps onto a perfect circle of smooth, black stone, in the middle of which stands a hut. He stops and looks up. He can see the night sky and the twinkling stars above. He looks back at the hut and sees lights inside. Through the yellow curtains, he can see a shadow moving inside, its figure distorted. Phil feels lightheaded.

The bird hops on his shoulder and nibs gently at his ear, before flying off back into the woods. Phil touches the tingling spot on his ear numbly, blinking at the hut. Before he can talk himself out of it, he walks slowly to the front door and bangs the rusty knocker against the wood. He gets to count to three before the door creaks open. Light spills outside, casting Phil in white and yellow. He opens his mouth to argue, before he notices.

It's Dan.

They stare at each other, eyes wide. Dan's wearing a heavy black cloak, and his eyes are painted dark. His lips look different than usual, redder, the colour of raspberries late in their bloom. Phil's throat feels dry.

"Phil?" Dan asks, bewildered. "But you can't– how are you here? You're not supposed to be here."

"I followed a bird," Phil says, feeling silly. He adds, "You disappeared."

Dan's expression doesn't change. "You were about to kiss me," he says. "And I didn't..."

Phil's stomach drops. He realises he’s in the middle of the woods, alone with Dan, and he doesn’t know how to get home. He doesn’t know why Dan’s here. "Want to?"

"No," Dan hurries to say emphatically. "No, I mean, I did – I do – but I don't... I panicked. You're not supposed to be here."

"You said that," Phil reminds him. His insides are twisting. "I don't see why not."

"Because–" Dan cuts himself off. His eyes drift past Phil and towards the forest. He frowns, looking concerned. "You should come inside."

The hut looks smaller on the inside, or perhaps it's just too crammed. There are bookshelves everywhere, but despite this, more novels are piled up on the floor in towers that look like they might tumble over any second. There are candles everywhere, and parchment, which feels like a hazard to Phil. On one table, he spies an assortment of flowers and herbs, and on another, some gems.

It all feels very familiar to him, from stories he’s read. Phil’s not stupid.

"You're a witch," he concludes aloud, turning to look at Dan.

Dan has his back to him. He's in the middle of drawing something on the door with white chalk. At Phil's words, he stops mid-movement. Phil can see his shoulders tense. "Yes," he says curtly, and resumes drawing.

"And why didn't you ever tell me?" Phil asks. He tries not to feel betrayed, but there's a part of him that's mad that Dan wouldn't trust him enough to let him know.

Dan finishes with an angry dot in the middle of a circle and turns around. "Why?" He asks, his voice climbing up. "Because witchcraft is supposed to be evil. Because magic is supposed to be bad. Because sometimes, I look like..." He glances down at his outfit and crosses his arms defensively. "This."

In the light of the candles, Phil can see he's wearing a long skirt underneath his cloak. His skin tingles. He’s never seen Dan in anything but his normal clothes. This is different. This is… There’s a pressure in Phil’s stomach. "I think you look..." He struggles to find a word eloquent enough. "Good."

Dan scoffs, looking sceptical. "You weren't supposed to know," he reiterates. "I've never told anyone."

Magic, Phil supposes, is not inherently anything. Good or bad. He doesn't know why Dan would think it's evil. He thinks maybe someone told him so, and no one ever told him otherwise. He knows most people are biased. He knows people are individuals. He knows Dan's not evil, and hence, the magic he performs can't be evil or bad, either. He knows... He knows he loves Dan.

"I don't mind," he says aloud. "I really don't. Any of this. I wanted to kiss you yesterday, and I still want to kiss you today. And tomorrow. And all the days after that, if you'd like me to. But it's fine if you don't."

Dan eyes him, biting his lower lip. "I do," he says quietly. "Want to kiss you. And take you home with me, and..." He sighs, looking away. "Look, when I told my parents I'd be back, I meant it. I've known for a few years now I could do that. I just didn't want to... assume."

Didn't want to assume what? That Phil hadn't been desperately head over heels for so long that it's laughable? He thinks about all the times he's thought about kissing Dan, the times he's felt his stomach hurt, the times he's just wanted to reach out, to say anything. All those words are bubbling out now, without Phil's permission.

"I love you," Phil blurts out, because he's desperate to finally have it out there, hanging tangible in the air between the two of them. "I have for a long time. You didn't assume anything."

Dan looks at him for a while – really, truly looks, as if searching for something. His expressions unreadable. Finally he steps closer, arms still crossed over his chest. "So, if I asked," he says slowly, "Would you kiss me back, now?"

 _In a heartbeat_ , Phil thinks, and out loud he says, "You don't have to ask."

Dan tastes of wild berries and smoke, his lips soft, and Phil wants to taste nothing else for the rest of his life. He wraps his arms around Dan’s shoulders, and when they draw apart, rests his forehead against Dan’s. Dan feels cold, like he always has.

This is what he should've done yesterday, or whatever day it is now. Phil's not sure if it's gone past midnight. He doesn't particularly care, right now.

“Why did you disappear?” He whispers, eyes closed. He needs to know.

He can feel Dan’s breathing. “I was scared,” Dan says back. “I thought you had to know about this, before I could do anything. But then it had been too long, and I was too afraid of what you'd think, and you were right there, and it was all too much. So, I came here.”

“This is where you went to, all those times you left the village?” Phil asks, curious. He's never asked. 

Dan nods. “Mostly, yes. For practice, and to be myself.”

Phil opens his eyes and draws his head back, but doesn’t move from where he’s holding Dan in his arms. “The skirts?”

Dan looks at him nervously. “And the make-up. And… other stuff.”

“Okay,” Phil says. He doesn’t understand, but maybe he doesn’t have to. He wishes Dan would know he can be himself with Phil, always. “You look good, you know. And you’re still the same Dan, just… different. That’s not bad.”

“I know,” Dan says, but he’s smiling a little. He hesitates, then pulls his necklace out. He eyes the silver ring – a wedding band, Phil realises, and feels like an idiot for not realising before. It's a promise in more ways than one - it's a promise to Phil, and to Dan, and to Dan's parents, still waiting for him to come back home. But he won't come back alone. 

“Can I wear it?” Phil asks, hoping he understands what Dan’s trying to say. Hoping Dan understands what he’s trying to ask.

In response, Dan places the ring gingerly around his neck. It feels cold against his chest. Phil thinks he could get used to its weight. He thinks he wants to.

“Come back home?” Phil asks, looking back at Dan.

Dan smiles, looking like the most beautiful thing Phil's ever seen, and huffs a laugh. “Already am.”

And Phil supposes he is, too.


End file.
